


You're the One I've Waited For (Now You're Home)

by NoelleAngelFyre



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014), The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Baby!Barry Allen, Barry gets easily attached, Barry wants hugs, Bonding, Carnivals, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluffity McFluff Fluffer, Inspired by random fanart, Len is so whipped for this kid but has come to terms with it, Len's a Softie, M/M, Museums, New parents might be too trusting, Plushies, Slightly Altered Timeline, Strolls in the park, These two love each other no matter what timeline they're in, Time Travel, Unconventional ideas of babysitting your future nemesis, You will give yourself a cavity reading this, Young Henry and Nora Allen, heavily implied ColdFlash (in modern time), photo booths, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24593029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoelleAngelFyre/pseuds/NoelleAngelFyre
Summary: This has 'bad idea' written all over it.____________________________________________While in Central City following up on a lead for the Legends, Leonard Snart comes across someone unexpected...and several years younger than Leonard remembers him.
Relationships: Barry Allen & Iris West (background), Barry Allen & Leonard Snart, Barry Allen/Leonard Snart, Henry Allen/Nora Allen, Leonard Snart & Lisa Snart (background), Lisa Snart & Mick Rory (background), Mick Rory & Leonard Snart (background)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 373





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was on the Internet (which is how the best stories always begin) and came across a totally random bit of fan art. I don't know what it's for or who drew it. All I cared about was that Baby Barry Allen was snuggling into adult Leonard Snart and did not seem keen on letting go. The plot bunnies went crazy.
> 
> WARNING: this is tooth-rotting fluff. We're talking Rainbow Brite, the Care Bears, Strawberry Shortcake, and Beanie Babies. Should you feel your teeth falling out at any point, please consult your emergency dental line for immediate assistance.

The late morning air is quiet, only a bird chirping a song in the distance and the background noise of people moving on the park’s other side, when a little cry of distress breaks the tranquility.

Leonard blinks, twice, then idly turns his eyes to find the source. It doesn’t take long: a stroller parked beside one of the numerous benches scattered throughout the area, and inside a little boy – no more than two years fresh on this earth – struggles against his restraints with tiny arms outstretched for a blanket now lying on the concrete path, tragically out of reach. Another resounding cry carries along the air, tiny limbs flailing to no avail.

An easy stride closes the distance, and Leonard crouches down to retrieve the blanket. It looks handknitted, perhaps by a family member, with patches of green, yellow, blue and white creating a charming mosaic on soft cloth. With a gloved hand, he dusts off the bits of twig and grass until the blanket is clean, then smiles lightly (and not disingenuously) at the eyes staring up at him, “This what you’re looking for?”

The baby is even smaller up-close than from a distance: slight build, fair-skinned, with a full head of rowdy brown curls and a pair of eyes that look green in the daylight but might be closer to light brown. At the moment, those eyes stare in Leonard with absolute rapture, that a perfect stranger would come to him in such a desperate time of need.

“Here you go,” Leonard tucks the blanket back into place with clinical precision, “it’s cold out today. Don’t want to get sick, do you?”

A gloved finger lightly taps a tiny nose. The boy’s face breaks into a radiant grin around a delighted coo.

“Oh, thank you!” a woman’s voice suddenly calls to him as she hurries back to the stroller, “I just had to grab something from the car,” she motions to a modest sedan parked no more than ten feet away, “and the key got stuck in the lock! I’m so sorry for the trouble.”

“Hardly any trouble.” Leonard smiles with practiced charm. The boy’s mother is definitely where the kid got his looks: soft brown hair loosely piled atop her head, green eyes, and a lovely smile. Certainly not hard on the eyes. And he personally appreciates her show of manners: today is a bit chilly, evidenced by the way she dressed herself and her son, but she still doesn’t blink at a grown man wearing a hooded parka which, even Leonard will admit, is a bit overdressed for the forecast.

He feels a slight tug on his coat and glances down: the kid is batting at the pockets with clear fascination.

“Oh, Barry! Don’t be impolite!”

_Barry…_ He makes a point, for next time, to get exact details on just where Rip sees fit to deposit him for the sake of ‘gathering intel’. Date, place, location – the whole nine-yards. “He’s fine.” Leonard smiles easily, “Cute kid you’ve got there.”

“Thank you – and, oh goodness, where are my manners?” she laughs carelessly and holds out a hand, “Nora Allen. Pleased to meet you, Mister…”

“Leonard.” He accepts her hand with the same easy grace, “Leonard St. Clair.” His mother’s maiden name is safe enough to use around here, “And the pleasure is all mine.”

She smiles, wide and bright. The kid definitely took after her. “Thank you again.” Nora dips her head in gratitude, then takes hold of the stroller, “Come on, sweetie…let’s go for your walk.”

Barry whines, loudly and unapologetically, and clutches at Leonard’s hem with a tiny fist. “Now, Barry,” she gently chides, “we can’t take up anymore of Mr. St. Clair’s time.”

Another whine, even louder, and something pokes a nerve inside Leonard’s chest. Not the annoyance which he could have expected, but…something else. Something wholly inappropriate for the situation at hand. He needs to bow out, wave goodbye to the kid, and go on his way. He’s not here for a pleasure trip – if this would even be pleasurable. It has ‘bad idea’ written all over it.

“Actually,” he says instead, “if I may be so bold – and Mister Allen wouldn’t object,” he nods down at the wedding ring glittering on her left hand, “I was fancying a stroll myself, just for a bit. Mind a little company?”

“I really don’t want to impose.” She sounds honestly more concerned about wasting his time rather than go for a leisurely stroll with a total stranger. Such blind trust was certainly not present in Leonard’s childhood, and it explains so much about how Barry turned out.

“No imposition.” Leonard lightly ruffles Barry’s curls, “To echo my earlier sentiment, the pleasure would be all mine.”

***

Nora Allen isn’t one of those new moms who fusses over her little one every five minutes or panics at random things. She is clearly determined to be the absolute best she can be, take the learning curve as smoothly as possible, and get her boy on the fast track to early learning. Most of the conversation she makes is to point out the world around them: the trees, the last bits of early snow, a squirrel running across the lawn and bounding up a tree, and so on. Barry stares at the world in rapt intrigue, except when Nora points out something that’s beyond his line of vision. Then he fusses and bats impatiently at the protective cover blocking his face.

Definitely a persistent little thing, for being a whole thirteen months old. And, yes, Nora shared that information with him. She’s been sharing quite a bit. Leonard is sorely tempted to provide a few real-world examples of just why she shouldn’t share so many personal details with anyone, especially him, but why should she think otherwise? He’s Leonard St. Clair, traveling through Central on a short business trip. He’s just a comfortable acquaintance sharing an afternoon stroll through the park. Nothing more.

“Alright, little man,” Leonard crouches down and pops the buckle; Barry seems to realize exactly what he’s doing and eagerly wriggles right into open arms, “that better?”

Now hoisted up against Leonard’s chest, Barry happily takes in all the sights he was missing before, with his blanket snugly wrapped around his little form. Then the fur from Leonard’s hood rustles Barry’s cheek, and those big eyes immediately hone in on the fur. He stares as if he has never seen anything so fascinating in all his life.

“He’s never been terrible with strangers,” Nora smiles as her son carefully lifts a tiny hand to pet the fur, “but he seems quite attached to you already.”

“Must be my glowing personality.” The joke is received with Nora’s delighted laughter, and Leonard’s smile keeps any betraying hint of inner turmoil stuffed at the back of his throat. This now has ‘bad idea’ written in block letters. Barry is so small, as fragile as an ancient artifact, and entirely too trusting. Even more than his mother. They both have no reason to perceive him as a threat, but it feels impossibly wrong to hold this tiny body, that young mind fixated on his person, and be given such complete faith. In the years to come, Leonard will personally inflict more physical and emotional damage to this kid than almost anyone.

It doesn’t stop the warmth from swelling in his chest when Barry buries his face in the fur.

“Oh! Henry! Henry, over here!” Nora bounces a little on her heels, waving a hand at someone in the distance. A man about her age, brown hair and solidly-built, wearing slacks and a button-down under his coat, spots the summons and breaks into a brisk jog from the other side of the park.

“Got done early at the hospital – thought I would surprise you guys.” He kisses her on the cheek, “…And it seems Barry’s made a friend.”

“This is Leonard St. Clair,” Nora smiles between them, “he’s just stopping in town on a business venture.”

“Oh!” Henry’s face lights up with a cheery grin; he holds out a hand for Leonard to shake, “What’s your business, Mr. St. Clair?”

“Acquisitions.” Leonard answers, adjusting Barry slightly, though it doesn’t take much: the kid weighs nothing and fits snugly in the crook of one arm, “Specifically, antiques. I heard the Nature and Science Museum just came into possession of some recent pieces from the Romanov Dynasty.”

“Oh, yes!” the more he sees Henry smile, the more Leonard wonders if Barry didn’t pick up that easy grin from his old man, “The new exhibit – it opens next week! Will you be in town?”

“Fortunately, my business gives me a first-viewing pass before the general public.” Barry tugs a little at the fur and giggles, maybe at how the texture feels on his skin, “And if I may give an insider’s opinion…it’s going to be well worth the price of admission.”

Absolutely none of this is a lie – with the only exception being the idea that someone _let_ him get a first-viewing pass. As in, official permission was obtained and given. But that sort of thing has always been overrated.

“Sounds like we have our next family outing planned.” Nora beams up at her husband.

“When is our next private outing going to be planned?” Henry winks at his wife, as flirtatious as any new father longing for a bit of ‘alone time’ with his wife after having a little one consumes their time day and night.

“Henry!” she lightly swats his shoulder, “Not in front of company. Besides, you know this is a very difficult time to get babysitters – it’s finals’ week at the college.”

Leonard never outsourced babysitting duty over Lisa when she was this age – Lewis wouldn’t have paid for it, even if an attempt was made – so he can’t entirely appreciate the absence of proper childcare. Back then, when Lisa had barely cut her first teeth and was stubbornly negotiating the semantics of crawling across the floor, she had been his first priority: a little human brought unintentionally into the world and trying to find her place in it. Protecting her was Leonard’s sole responsibility. No one else was going to do it.

In hindsight, perhaps he had been somewhat fortunate with Mick’s established presence in his life. Mick wasn’t scared away by babbling nonsense or the responsibility of providing meals for two late-teen boys and a growing baby. He only drew the line at changing diapers.

“You know, a new restaurant just opened at 8th and Park.” Leonard says casually, “I didn’t have a chance to try it myself, but supposedly it already has great reviews. If you wanted to check it out, and you’re comfortable with the idea…my flight doesn’t leave until late tomorrow morning. I’d be happy to watch your little man for a couple hours.”

“Oh, we couldn’t.” Nora shakes her head, “We’ve taken up so much of your time – and you’re here on business.”

“It’s my last night in town. I think I’ve earned the right to enjoy myself.” Rip, he’s sure, will have plenty of things to say about that, but the Englishman can take his opinions and choke on each one. “And I’ve got some pretty solid company right here.”

Barry claps his little hands with a toothless grin and burrows his face back in Leonard’s hood. “Oh, dear…” Henry chuckles, “I think he’s attached.”

“You have no idea.” Nora shakes her head, “But, honestly…you’ve already done so much…”

“It’s only a couple hours, Nora.” These two are young, far too trusting, and Leonard really should feel guilty about how much he’s gaslighting them with certain details, “And Barry likes him.”

“Here,” Leonard pulls a burner from the left pocket; it isn’t worth a damn on the _Waverider_ but is perfectly functional otherwise and it is for that precise reason that he made a point to bring it along – and mandate that Mick do the same, “I’ll give you my number. You can check in as often as you need.”

In a few years, Leonard can only hope (for Barry’s sake) that Henry and Nora will think twice before leaving their son with a complete stranger for even a couple hours just to have some time to themselves. But they’re young parents, looking to rekindle their original spark, and they have no reason to distrust someone with as mundane a career as antique acquisition.

***

The Romanov Dynasty exhibit was mostly by Rip’s insistence: a possible new lead on Savage which turned out to be entirely worthless. Even so, there’s no reason Leonard should pass up a perfect opportunity to make this trip very worth his while.

Tiny as he is, Barry takes up almost no room in the sling currently draped across Leonard’s chest. If he tried to button the parka, it would be a near-perfect fit. If it gets too cold, later, he might try the experiment. At the moment, it would attract too much attention.

“Which one do you like best, Barry?” Leonard keeps his voice low; the museum closed an hour ago, leaving only a couple guards in place. So good to know the after-hours security hasn’t changed in over two decades. He has an unfair advantage, having studied the ins-and-outs of this place twenty-some years in the future, and he is more than happy to take capitalize on it.

Barry studies the case intently, then pokes an arm outside of the sling and points eagerly at the diamonds. “Good choice.” Leonard grins at him, “I always knew you’d make a good addition to the team.”

With his parents no longer present and Barry too young to entirely understand the context, Leonard doesn’t bother keeping a lid on it anymore. “Alas, you turn out to be a stubborn little do-gooder. But who knows? After tonight, maybe you’ll change your tune. Now,” he taps Barry’s nose with a finger and hoists the gun from its holster, “close your little eyes.”

Barry immediately burrows his face under the blanket. Kid’s smarter than he lets on.

The glass crackles under the application of ice, then gives no resistance when Leonard taps a finger and shatters the top panel entirely. The shards barely make a sound in the descent, splattering around the stones like fallen snow. He cleans out the contents with a few easy motions, slides the gun back in the holster, and heads for the east exit.

“Thanks for letting me make the detour, kid.” He smiles down at Barry, “Now let’s go do something for you.”

***

It’s a little late in the season for a carnival, but sure enough – the flashing lights can be seen from a mile away. They won’t stay long; Leonard has a thing about crowds and Barry shouldn’t be over-exposed to stimulus at this age (a hard-learned lesson from Lisa’s formative years which Leonard suspects may have manifested into her obsession with gold). Still, an hour or two isn’t going to hurt anything. He only spent half an hour at the museum, and any self-respecting young parents who have been promised ‘a couple hours’ at a nice restaurant will take at least four hours to get home.

He slips Barry free of the sling, to let the kid use his limbs as he likes, but keeps him close to the chest. There is literally no one in this crowd he trusts and the evening air can get chilly. Just because Leonard loves the cold doesn’t mean Barry shares the sentiment.

All the lights, the sounds, the movement of kids running to and from the rides, has Barry unblinking, like he’ll miss a pivotal event if he looks away for half a second. He makes little noise, unless he’s tugging on Leonard’s hood to point at something, or someone, with a wordless babble and wide eyes staring up at his unlikely caretaker. Leonard can’t even try to keep the amusement from his face. It makes him wonder if this is how Barry – his Barry, the Flash – takes in some new development of the world: uninhibited rapture and sheer fascination as if nothing will ever been seen like it again.

Suddenly, Barry starts reaching for something in the distance and babbling happily. Leonard follows the line of vision and spots the photo booth a short distance away: a bright yellow station outlined in flashing lights with cheery music tinkling out of the speakers. Small wonder it caught the kid’s attention.

“You’re really gonna push this, aren’t you?” Leonard sighs, then sighs again as Barry turns big brown eyes on him with all the eagerness of a puppy. “Fine.” He has a thing – a BIG thing – about not being photographed. Lisa has wrangled him in front of a camera a total of ten times in his lifetime, each one under duress, and after the last time he made a promise to God that he would never again willingly sit in front of a camera lens to the day he died.

All things considered, being inside a carnival photo booth with a happy little bundle of shameless delight is not the worst way to break his promise to God.

…He is so whipped for this kid.

Leonard doesn’t even try to get Barry’s attention on the camera. This isn’t a professional portrait, and Barry seems happiest exploring every inch of the booth with a goofy grin and senseless babbling. Leonard isn’t sure if being photographed when he’s looking _away_ from the camera makes him feel better or just pathetic – mostly because his attention is otherwise focused on keeping Barry from toppling off his lap.

The booth spits out the roll of black-and-white film. Leonard pockets the evidence without looking at it, adjusts the blanket around Barry’s shoulders, and steps back out into the cooling night air. There’s a mother with two small children waiting patiently for their turn, and she beams at the sight.

“Oh, he’s precious!” she coos fondly at Barry, who shyly tucks his face in Leonard’s chest, “You must be so proud.”

The erroneous assumption, however valid, makes Leonard want to squirm. He’s already accepted that in the last six hours he’s wound himself around Barry’s tiny finger, tight as a thread, but tomorrow he gets on the _Waverider_ and leaves this Central City far behind. It doesn’t change the little detail that in 2016, in real time, he’s twenty years older than the man Barry becomes, not much older than Henry Allen is now, which just makes the idea that he is, in fact, old enough to be Barry’s dad all the harder to swallow. His feelings for the Flash, for the man under the mask, are complicated on the best of days and downright intolerable on the rest. He has no idea how he’s supposed to go back to Central City 2016, to being Captain Cold and reacquainting Barry with his cold gun after spending over half a day cradling the kid’s infant self, watching him suckle a bottle for dinner with brown eyes staring in absolute adoration, and shooting death glares at any passerby who look at them the wrong way.

“Try your luck, Mister?” from behind one of the numerous booths, a freckle-faced teen (probably not even out of high school) waves a cheery hand. It’s a standard ploy – they’re paid to sucker idiots out of hard-earned cash just for the chance to win an over-stuffed panda – but unfortunately it catches Barry’s attention as easily as the photo booth. Right on cue, he starts babbling and waving both arms towards the booth. Fantastic.

“Hit three ducks in a row, take your pick of any prize!” this guy has way too much energy for his own good, especially when he’s marketing something that was managed much better in a video game long before he was even born.

Barry is wriggling like a happy little worm and tugging at Leonard’s collar. He doesn’t make a point to hide how profoundly his eyes are rolling skyward, but shifts Barry fully to his left side, hooks an arm around the squirming bundle, and picks up the gun. Cheap bit of plastic that’s been through the ringer and has a questionable stain along the magazine.

The ducks start rolling along the track. With only a brief moment to intently question how his life has come to this, Leonard takes aim and starts popping off fake bullets. Barry whines softly at the noise, face burrowed deep in Leonard’s collar, and Leonard uses the supporting hand to rub soothing circles through the blanket. It does the trick in record time.

…Christ, he is _whipped_.

“Wow!” the teen grins, “Talk about a new record, man!” he says it like this was some kind of great Olympic challenge, “Pick your prize!”

Barry’s face is still buried in his chest, so Leonard decides to call the shots on this one. Most of the prizes are generic – the kind of stuff parents are harassed into buying for their kids or some kid picks to impress the girl who agreed to date him – but he spots one item of interest on the far right rack: a polar bear, almost as big as Barry, with a blue-and-red striped scarf and a pair of big blue eyes to match the wide grin sewn on its face.

The irony is too good to pass up.

“Hey,” Leonard taps on Barry’s shoulder with a paw, “what do you think?”

Barry blinks, rubbing at his eyes with one hand, then nearly does a double-take to see the bear so close. He stares in wonder, petting the white fur almost reverently, then throws both arms around the bear’s neck with a delighted sound. Having the thing’s head shoved unceremoniously under his neck is not particularly comfortable for Leonard, but his ass is whipped and he swallows the circumstances with as much dignity as might be allowed.

***

“I cannot _believe_ we were out this late.” Nora softly moans, hands mussing up her hair, and gives the most apologetic look Leonard can ever recall receiving in his life, “You _have_ to let us pay you for tonight.”

“Not necessary.”

“ _Please_.” She looks just shy of dropping to her knees, “You have spent over half the day with Barry…you have to let us pay you something for all this.”

He waves a hand, “It was well spent.” His tone is sincere, much too sincere for someone who has spent half his life in and out of police custody and has a handful of ill-gotten stones nestled safely in his pocket. He lightly jerks his head back inside the nursery, “You’ve got an exceptional kid in there. He’s going to grow up to be one of a kind.”

It's the kind of flattery every mother wants to hear, but Nora’s eyes shine exceptionally bright and her smile almost hurts to look at – at least for too long. “…Perhaps we’ll see you next time you’re in town?”

“Possibly.” Rip is such a stickler for not revisiting the same place twice that Leonard knows this is an empty possibility, but there’s no reason for this woman to know it. Let her and her husband keep the faith in human goodness a little longer, before their world comes crashing down around them in ways that defy explanation or understanding.

Leonard pauses, then quietly steps back into the nursery. Freshly bathed and dressed in a cherry-red onesie, Barry is tucked in under a different blanket – yellow with white trim – with his little shape nestled against the polar bear. Both hands are buried deep in fur, his cheek pillowed against one shoulder, and if there was ever a moment which mandated a photograph, this would be it.

With no small willpower, Leonard declines the temptation.

One gloved hand reaches into the crib and lightly brushes a few loose curls aside. Then he steals one last moment for himself and sets a tiny kiss to Barry’s head.

“See you in a couple decades, Scarlet.”


	2. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Did you guys think I was done after the first chapter? ;)

Rip bends his ear for hours about ‘chain of command’ and ‘floundering in the timeline’ and ‘reckless disregard for the rules’ and so on. All the while, Leonard stretches out across the doorway of Sara’s room while the three of them – Leonard, Sara, and Mick – play cards. Eventually Rip gets tired of hearing the sound of his own voice and storms back to the bridge, muttering under his breath.

“So…does he know about the souvenirs yet?” Sara asks, thumbing her cards in order.

“First and most important rule,” Leonard replies, “never plead guilty to a crime they don’t know about yet.”

Sara only smirks. Mick gives him grief when Leonard officially calls it a night, making a couple age jokes that earn a solid smack upside the head, then gets into it with Sara when she makes the casual observation that Mick is in fact older and therefore is the true ‘old man’ among them. Leonard leaves them to it and disappears into the sanctity of his room. In carefully storing the diamonds under his mattress (the simplest solutions are often the best ones), the photo slip from earlier falls to the floor and, out of morbid curiosity, Leonard picks it up for further inspection.

Turns out, neither of them ever looked at the camera. Not once. But there is a rather endearing little shot of Barry with his face upturned toward Leonard, a grin for the ages stretched across those little cheeks, with hands resting against the older man’s chest. There is a possibility that the camera captured a responsive smile on Leonard’s face, looking down at the kid, but no one is going to see proof of it and live.

He tucks the photo slip carefully into the half-wall which serves as a headboard, slips under the covers, and turns out the lights.

***

_Central City: 2016_

“Hey, Barry!” Iris comes down the stairs, skipping every other step as she does, and lightly skids to a halt before crashing into him, “Look what I found cleaning out the last of our old stuff – where did you get this little guy?”

Barry looks up from where he’s been crouched on the floor for the last two hours, taping up boxes for the donation drive, and blinks at the item Iris nearly shoved in his face. “…I don’t remember.” He straightens up, wincing as his knees crack, and takes the plush toy from her hand, “Must have been when I was really little.”

“Oh my gosh, he’s precious!” she coos softly, finger tapping at the black button nose; with a more calculating stare, she lightly adjusts the scarf around its neck, then shrugs, “Definitely showing the years…must have been one of your favorites.”

She isn’t wrong: the white fur, probably originally pristine, shows signs of having been washed multiple times; the red and blue scarf has more than a few frayed threads, and one of the eyes is a little off, like it was sewn back into place after an unfortunate mishap. Still, as Barry combs fingers idly through the fur, an odd sense of security, of comfort, settles down to the bones. He must have been closer to this bear than he thought.

“Still,” Iris lightly plucks the bear back, “someone will get good use of him.”

“Hey, Iris,” Barry says, reaching out with one hand, “not just yet.”

Her eyebrows lift with an amused grin, “Seriously, Barry? Feeling nostalgic, are we?”

“It’s a failing.” He shrugs and tucks the little guy under one arm, “Besides, I think we have plenty of things otherwise to make kids happy. Including your Princess Teacup set. You know…the one you almost didn’t let Joe put in the pile?”

“Shut up.” She swats him with an old sweater, then plops it back on the pile, “Help me finish. Dad’s gonna be here with the truck any minute.”

“Help _you_ finish? I’ve been doing all the work around here.”

“Oh, yeah…because we all know it’s such a trial and effort for you, _Flash_.”

Just because he can, he zips through the final packaging efforts, then makes a point to tell Joe that Iris tried to steal her teacup set back while he was gone. Then he’s out the door before Iris can officially start yelling at him.

And if Barry goes to sleep that night with a fluffy white polar bear, red-and-blue scarf neatly trimmed back to perfection and blue-eyed smile facing him from the other pillow…there’s nothing wrong with that.


End file.
